The Rebel Doc. Susan Carlisle

took a moment to register that this was Matteo, this was a kiss—so unexpected, and yet everything that their conversations had been leading up to. His mouth was playful as he nipped across her bottom lip and she could feel his smile against her own. Then she stopped thinking altogether—because thinking would throw up too many barriers, and just for once in her life she wanted to be free, to take what she wanted instead of holding back. To open herself up to … this. He tasted exotic, of spice and man, and it set her gut on fire.

      Wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her closer, he set the tone, and took control. His tongue slipped into her mouth and danced a fierce dance with hers. She gripped his shirt, pressed her body against his, took everything he gave her and gave it right back to him. All the fighting and the humiliation and the anger and the deep sexual need she’d experienced since she’d crossed paths with him was in that kiss. So too was a longing and heat that she’d never experienced before.

      This was bad.

      This was good.

      This was the biggest mistake she’d ever made. As reality seeped into her brain she stopped. Fighting for breath, she pulled away. ‘My God, Matteo. What the hell was that for?’

      ‘You looked like you needed kissing.’ And he was all bravado and outward calm but she could see the slight tremor in his body as he inhaled a breath. So it had been an instinctive unthought-out action and had taken him by surprise too. ‘And I was right, you did. Kissing suits you. You should do it more often. Look at you now—alive. Vibrant. No words.’

      She daren’t imagine how she looked, but that was the least of her problems. ‘Well, that’s not the way I do things. And now I’m going home.’ Don’t even think of asking to come with me.

      ‘Okay. If you insist.’ As he appeared to get used to the idea that smile was back on his mouth. A mouth she’d actually, really, truly just kissed, in the street like a … an out-of-control teenager.

      Kissing Matteo! She swiped a hand across her lips to remove all trace of him. What the hell had she been thinking? He was all mouth and smug and … Oh, my God, he was good. And she couldn’t find an inch of her body that didn’t want to do it again—but her conscience, oh, dear, her conscience was very unhappy with such a strange and unexpected turn of events.

      ‘My bag? Please.’ She reached for it.

      ‘Sure. Here you go. Sweet dreams, Ivy.’ With that he handed her bag over, turned and disappeared back inside the pub, leaving her breathless and hot and shaking.

      Sweet dreams? Not if they were going to be filled with him. Please, no. Thanks goodness her bag was stuffed to the gills with papers that would keep her occupied into the early hours, because somehow she was going to have to keep her mind on her work and not on a peachy backside, startling eyes and smug mouth.

       Good luck with that.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘SERIOUSLY, I HAVE to sit in a circle and discuss hypothetical scenarios? Really? When there are real ones happening two floors down in ER … and an empty OR across the hospital?’ Matteo looked around at the other members of the group in disbelief. Two doctors, a ward clerk and a phlebotomist. They were okay with this?

      ‘Okay, then.’ Ivy was hovering around them, going from group to group checking on progress, a smile plastered to her face. A smile, he could see, that wasn’t comfortable every time her eyes settled on him. ‘Why don’t you share with everyone what the specific problems are for your department? We could do a brainstorm and set something in motion. It could be a true test of the skills you’re learning here on the course.’

      Marjorie, the ward clerk from ward three, nodded in agreement, her gaze homing in on Matteo. ‘Okay, big-shot bottom, tell us what you need.’

      He smothered a grin. That photo had certainly been one way of getting attention, unwanted but nevertheless—people certainly knew him now. ‘I need, in simple terms, a new dialysis machine, or funds to buy one.’

      ‘Ball park?’ Ivy again.

      ‘Around thirty thousand.’

      ‘That’s a lot of calendars you’d have to sell, Mr Finelli. How about you approach a fund starter website? That would be a great place to start. Some people are seeing amazing results … Ivy certainly got impassioned and enthusiastic about some things. ‘Set up an account and get people to pledge money. Those kinds of forums work because it’s a little more personal than just donating. You could have giveaways with each level of pledge—say, a plaque for a platinum sponsor. Plus a brochure and a personalised photograph or something …’

      ‘We’ve already got a perfect picture for that, eh, Matteo?’ It was Marjorie again. His backside had certainly gone viral.

      Ivy rolled her eyes. ‘That’s enough about that picture, please. I am so over it. Really. As I’ve already explained to Mr Finelli, that’s not the sort of image we want associated with St Carmen’s—as we can clearly see it distracts us from our purpose. Still, great work. Brainstorming certainly helps.’

      One of the other doctors chipped in, ‘How about a charity run or a bike ride? A run might work better—around one of the parks? Hyde Park would be good. I know they allow a certain number of small events like that. Or Regent’s? Or a skydive?’

      Ivy beamed and shot an I told you so look at Matteo. ‘All of these things can catch the public’s eye—given enough warning, they would embrace it. We could get the message out via our usual social media outlets—contact radio stations directly, and get their followers to get involved—it’s a chain reaction. A personal message in a public forum often gets huge hits and a better positive response. Something like Want to fly high for St Carmen’s? Charity fundraising skydiving event—have fun and do some good! DM us back for details … Or something. That’s off the top of my head, and you’d need to do it in conjunction with marketing.’

      Matteo nodded, impressed with the enthusiasm, although daunted by the amount of time it would need to do all this. ‘It sounds like a lot of work.’

      ‘And we’re not afraid of that.’ Ivy tapped her marker pen against her mouth as she thought. ‘It would be a team effort, anyway. Small amounts of time and energy spent efficiently, in the right ways.’

      He preferred it, he mused to himself, when that mouth was not talking. When it was kissing him. Who would have thought that was how the evening would pan out? It had been a surprise even to him. More so, the way she’d kissed him back with such hunger had stoked a fierce heat inside him, one that had him wanting more from her in a way that he hadn’t wanted someone in a very long time.

      Which was warning enough. No more kissing.

      The afternoon crawled along and eventually the workshops came to a close, and he wasn’t sure whether it was such a coincidence that he was, once again, the last person to be leaving the room. His feet seemed to have started a revolution and were taking their time in walking towards the door.

      ‘Mr Finelli. May I, please, have a word?’ She sounded like a schoolteacher. Which made him grin to himself. That kiss had shaken her. And it had probably been wrong of him to have done it—but, Dio mio, she had looked so uptight and uncomfortable and after the kiss it had been like looking at a different woman. Her hair had become messed a little and her lips had swollen, her cheeks pink, but her eyes—man, her eyes had been alive. That intense green flecked with gold, and sparkling. Just sparkling.

      Despite that, he knew bone deep that it had been a crazy thing to do. He had no business kissing Miss Poison Ivy. They were poles apart in everything, not least that he was a one-night-stand man and she looked, as far as he could see, like a one-man-only woman. No—it wasn’t going to happen again.

      He turned, but made sure he stayed where he was at the door—all the better to make a quick exit before any